


251 - Making Van a Movie, Fanfic & Homesick Parents

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts "a story where you make van a movie? so like- you're a film student and want to make van a film for his birthday/your anniversary/something like that, so you film snippets of your life over a long while but he just thinks it's for school and doesnt think much of it? and then, bam! you surprise him!" from @dogwoodbaby and "a story about Mary and Bernie missing Van while he's on tour? Maybe Bernie calls to catch up and casually mentions how sad Mary gets after he says goodbye, so next time he has to leave van makes sure to be extra lovey?"Bonus mini request for Van catching Reader watching Catfish interviews/reading fanfic.





	251 - Making Van a Movie, Fanfic & Homesick Parents

With all the beautiful words in the English language, how was there not one that described how it felt when Van was away? You could tell people you missed him. You could say you were homesick for him. You could feel the burning heart and aching body and deep sadness. But there wasn't an insightful summarisation of all that. In the end, you gave up on trying to talk about the experience of being Van-less because people were simply unable to comprehend and relate. And fuck, of course there is a word for that - exulansis via The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows; except for you the experience didn't drift out of any consciousness and become replaced with a peaceful existence.

There were only three methods of keeping the feeling of missing Van from completely consuming you. The first was the one you'd never own up to. In the darkness of the night, under the cover of a new incognito Chrome window, you'd watch Catfish and the Bottlemen interviews and read #VanMcCann fanfiction. It wasn't like you were ashamed of your internet search history, it was just that if Van found out, he'd tell Larry and they'd never let you live it down. Larry already gave you enough shit for being so in love.

The second method was the most common. People all across the world laid curled around the pillows, blankets, and hoodies of their travelling beloveds in order to feel closer. In particular, you loved Van's The Streets hoodie and this one green and grey knitted throw blanket he'd had since he was a kid. It didn't matter how many times they went through the wash with different brands of powder, they would return smelling of him. And in that, there was infinite comfort.

Finally, you began to annoy Mary and Bernie more and more with unannounced drop-ins. Well, you assumed you were being annoying because if someone constantly came to your house without an invitation or good reason, you'd be v. v. annoyed. Van assured you that they loved it. They did too. "We love havin' ya, dear," Mary would say as she brewed tea and prepared herself to tell another embarrassing baby Van story. She only told the ones guaranteed to make him blush, which in itself was a hard feat. It was a good demonstration of how truly mortifying some of the stories were. But of course, they only made you love him more.

Mary and Bernie coped a lot better with Van being gone. They put it down to practice and acclimatisation. Simply, they were very used to him being elsewhere, even when 'home.' Nevertheless, after seeing their only child then having him fly off so quickly, there was always the mourning period. Bernie would swallow that with a few more trips out to see his rugby mates. Mary though, she let herself wallow in the drama of it.

One time, you sat at their kitchen table and watched Bernie call Van and tell him about her. "She's nursin' ya dog like it's a baby," Bernie said to him. In that moment, your brand new coping strategy was born. As you filmed Mary with Little Mary, you thought about all the things that needed to be captured and saved forever.

When Van returned home, you showed him all the footage. The filming didn't stop when he was back with you either. There was hardly a day out of the house where you weren't attached to your phone, camera, or GoPro. He loved it all and quickly got used to being filmed 24/7. The first few days, he was acting - exaggerating everything he did and said, and constantly looking for where you'd set down a camera. Then, he got bored of that and went back to normal.

With Van home again, everything went back to normal.

…

You woke up because your arms were freezing. And your toes. You wriggled them, just to make sure you hadn't lost sensation entirely. Sitting up, you looked around the bedroom a little dazed. The window wasn't open, but you knew others in the house would be. It didn't matter to Van that it was cold, he hated feeling all couped up. It was too much like the stuffy tour bus and windowless hotel rooms. But, as the air dropped in temperature, your skin did too. Van had thrown another blanket over you in your sleep, carefully tucking you in. It wasn't enough though. You had shimmied free from the cocoon and had woken up too early, too cold.

Van was always awake before you. He always fell asleep after you too. A symptom of a life on the road, he required very little sleep. A symptom of being his girlfriend, you were a heavy sleeper and wouldn't wake while he drifted in and out of bed.

Following the sounds, you found Van. He had dusted off the record player, literally. You hardly used it while he was away. While there were always good intentions to, you just never got around to it. Too busy moping and missing him. The crackling sounds of a band you'd not heard of came from the lounge, but Van was in the kitchen.

On the table was a pile of cans, frozen somethings, and old vegetables from the crisper. He smiled at you as you entered.

"Mornin', baby,"

"What're you doin'?" you asked, the last word trailing off into a yawn.

Van smiled again and stood from where he was looking for something in a cupboard. He flicked the kettle on and began to make you a cup of tea.

"Spring cleaning. All this," he said, motioning to the tabletop of food, "is past its date. Like, really gone. Not fussed 'bout a little bit. But look at that pumpkin! Think it's growing another pumpkin!"

"Mmmm, wasn't a pumpkin to begin with," you replied, poking the strange orange and green thing on the table.

Van put the tea in front of you and continued on with his mission.

"Thinking we could go to the shops, get some stuff, make a big breakfast or lunch or something? How's that sound?"

As he checked through the shelf where the baking ingredients were, he'd obviously come across the flour that came loose from the packet. He'd obviously not been aware of this, as it was wiped across his forehead. You smiled at him. God, it was good to have him home.

"Sounds perfect."

He nodded and put his head back in the cupboard.

Also on the table was your camera and you whispered Van's name and recorded his spooked reaction as he flicked his baby Simba head around to look at you. Too fucking cute.

Back to normal: Sleepless Van and breakfast plans.

…

Despite being honestly scared for Larry's health, you couldn't help but laugh. As Van attempted to pick him up, Larry decided to lay on the ground and literally roll away. His back and front took turns at hitting the sidewalk hard.

"Mate!" Van called, hands on hips like a worried mother. He turned to you then. "You ain't helping!"

"Sorry!" But you made no attempt to help or stop filming.

Van went after Larry, stopped the rolling, and sat him up. You watched and filmed from your place out the front of the pub as they talked it out. Leaned up against the wall, you shivered in the night time cold.

Bondy appeared then. Before you could say hi, he was taking his nice jacket off and putting it around you. You slipped your arms into it and pulled it snug around yourself.

"Thank you,"

"Easy, honey. Lau fucked?" You nodded. "You gonna make him watch this tomorrow?" You nodded again. Bondy snorted. "Think Van needs help?"

"Yeah… probably. We should take him back with us. Don't want him choking on his own puke or something,"

"A lovely image.”

You followed Bondy to where Larry and Van were sitting side by side. Larry looked up at him like he was a total stranger.

It took another ten minutes to wrangle him into the backseat of the car.

After kissing Bondy's stubbly cheeks, left then right, and being forced to take his jacket for warmth, you bid him farewell. He captain-saluted Van from the sidewalk, knocked on the car's hood with his knuckles, and walked back to the pub for another round.

On the way home, you quizzed Larry. He kicked at the roof while giving you nonsensical answers that made Van laugh so hard he almost swerved off the road.

"Yeah! Yeah, nah, aw… Um… Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, look. Listen. Listen 'ere, Y/N. Listen. Look. Look. Alright? It's like this…" A long pause, then he started to bop his head like he could hear music nobody else could. He swung it side to side. "Clint Eastwood."

"The song or the person?" you asked.

"Finally someone le'me ou-a ma cage," he replied, then went silent and continued to head bop.

"What did you ask him?" Van asked.

"What he wanted for breakfast tomorrow."

Back to normal: Adopted child of Y/N and Van, Larry Lau, sleeping on the couch.

…

"Told ya I could do it!" Van said proudly.

You stood in the doorway of the room. Van said it was a multi-purpose room. It looked awfully similar to a baby's nursery though. There was a pretty pale yellow on the walls. The fresh paint smell made you think of clean. The speaks of yellow on the polished floorboards did not. Van had painted it, twice, then decided to build a bookcase. You'd almost argued with him about it. Why not just buy one? Why not commission a carpenter? That's when you first had suspicions it was a room for his future child.

Standing in the doorway, you watched Van run his hand down the side of the bookcase. He had a lot of help from Bernie, but that was mostly in the planning stage. Van had built it. He'd sanded it and varnished it. He'd attached it to the wall and filled it with your books, of which there were many. 

"It's amazing. Really. It's beautiful, Van. You did good," you told him, stepping in for a closer look.

It was simple, but the wood was of high quality and the finish was warm with love. One day, when teddy bears and fairy tales were put on it, the bookcase would really come alive.

"Thanks, love," he replied, pulling you under his arm and puffing his chest out.

"We'll take a photo, yeah? Let me get the camera."

Back to normal: Future Dad Van in action.

…

You watched through the window as Van followed along behind Bernie. They were out in his garden and he was showing Van all the things he'd done while Van had been away. He'd built a few above ground veggie patches. That was your idea. It meant they could continue the patch without having to get so low to the ground. Bernie's years and years of playing rugby would have to catch up with him sooner or later. 

The back fence had been replaced, the invoice sent to Van. They had even invested in some chickens. Van did not like them, they unnerved him, but he learnt their names regardless. "If they're gonna give me my sunny-side-ups, then least I can do is call 'em by their names," Van would tell you later.

Mary handed you a mug of tea and joined you at the window. She sighed happily.

"Glad to have him back?" she asked. She knew the question was redundant; she was given you a free pass to gush about him because she wanted one to do the same.

"God, yes. I still remember the first time he went on a big tour without me, when they were starting, you know? I remember thinking 'this one is the worse, it will get easier after this' but it really doesn't!" you said in one breath out.

Mary smiled and nodded. "No. It doesn't. Strange that. He can be back in the country and we only see him a couple times, but it's still different when he's gone gone,"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I think it's the time zones; you can't talk when you want to. And knowing that he can't just be there at the drop of a hat if you need him. I don't know," you agreed.

You took your phone out and filmed through the window.

"If ya gonna film them, may as well make it worth it," Mary whispered.

Looking over at her, you watched a mischievous smile spread across her face. Her eyes twinkled. People always guessed Van got his mayhem from Bernie, but it was the McCann women you really ought to watch out for. You loved them all.

Mary snuck out the back and picked up the garden hose that was coiled by the door. She went unnoticed. You followed along behind her, holding your phone steady. Van and Bernie were under an old tree debating if it should be removed or not. Suddenly, they were attacked. Water came streaming down from the vengeful heavens and drenched them.

Van screamed loudly, his voice reaching a pitch you'd never heard before. He jumped and moved quickly, then dramatically shook himself out like a puppy. 

Bernie yelled, "Hey!" in a strange grumpy old man voice. It didn't sound like his regular voice at all. He zoomed in on Mary and stalked over to her. You moved out of the way while they stared each other down for control of the hose. Every few seconds, Mary would bring it out from behind her back and get Bernie in the face. He'd try to snatch it away but she was too fast.

"Let's go in before they turn on us," Van whispered, pushing you along the edge of the garden and back into the house.

Later, when all were dry and seated at the table for dinner, Bernie reached for the last Yorkshire. Mary slapped his hand away.

"That's for Ryan," she said in a matter-of-fact voice.

"He's had three!"

"Why you counting my food, mate?" Van asked, amused.

"He's not had a home cooked meal for months. Don't be greedy," she said.

"Yeah. Months! I've been starved!" Van added.

You held back a laugh as Van forced himself to eat the last Yorkshire while maintaining eye contact with his father. Everyone knew Bernie would get back at him somehow. Salt in his tea. Chicken loose in the yard. Something. It's what they did. You just hoped you'd be there to capture it on camera.

Back to normal: Mary and Bernie McCann competing for the love and attention of their only son.

…

The brightness of your phone woke you. As your eyes painfully adjusted to the light, you checked the time. It was a little past two in the morning. You could hear Van's light snoring from next to you. The message on your phone at the ungodly hour was Tumblr, notifying you that a blog had started to post again. Hurray! The username was familiar though. It was one of the best fanfic blogs.

Despite telling yourself you didn't need to read it when you had the real thing, you couldn't help yourself. You couldn't even wait until morning. Her writing was good. Like, good good. You had always wished there was a way you could tell her how accurate her version of Van was.

So the story went… cute meet… somehow both blank yet relatable Reader character… perfect Van… oh, God. It really was what dreams were made of.

You were halfway through when Van's sniggering laughter was loud in your ear. You'd not even felt him move, wake up, roll over to you and read your phone's screen.

"Is that what I think it is, babe?!"

While he hysterically laughed, you locked your phone and wriggled back under the covers. He wasn't letting it go that easily. He was, however, getting out of bed and turning the light on.

"What are you doing?" you groaned.

Van began looking for something under the piles of clothes in the room.

"Where's the camera? The GoPro?"

Even if you knew, you weren't about to tell him. Unfortunately, he found it swiftly. It was sitting on the vanity in the ensuite bathroom. You'd last used it when you showered together.

Van climbed onto the bed and used one hand to try to rid you of your blanket and the other to film your blushing cheeks.

"You up in the middle of the night reading 'bout me? Huh?" he teased, poking your side when he could. "You need a midnight pick-me-up, I'm right here, love,"

"Shut up,"

"Shut up?! You embarrassed, babe? Can you read me some? Is it good? Who am I fuckin' in it? S'not Larry is it. If I had to pick I'd pick Bob,"

"I don't read those kinds," you replied, play punching back at his annoying pokes. He grinned.

"If someone had stories about you I'd probably read 'em too," he said, calming down but maintaining his position on top of you and the camera angle.

"Course you would,"

"Yeah, 'cause I love ya,"

"If you love me you will never tell anyone about this and you'll let me go to sleep now," you said, trying your best for a blank expression. It was hard to swallow the smile.

Van studied your face carefully. Slowly, he shook his head.

"I can only do half of that," he said. You knew what he meant but he was going to spell it out anyway. "Promise not to tell another soul. Secret's safe with me. But about the sleeping thing. No can do, babe." He popped the second B in 'babe' and smirked. "Gonna make ya little stories come true, yeah?"

You groaned in second-hand embarrassment. "Story Van isn't lame and cheesy like you," you told him.

He pretended to be offended, his hand going to his heart like you'd hurt him. 

The GoPro was not switched off but was lost in the folds of the bedding, only to be remembered in the early morning sunshine.

Back to normal: Sex at weird hours, instigated by strangeness. 

…

"Subway rule!" Van said as he ate another of the freshly baked cookies.

"What?"

"Subway rule. When you're at Subway and you get the cookies. You can have four of the chocolate ones, or whatever, the bad ones, or six of the healthy ones and it's the same. So you get the healthy ones so you can have more," he explained, tapping his head like a thinker.

"Subway don't have healthy cookies," you said confused.

Van looked at you with a frown. Slowly, he took another bite, then nodded. "Yeah. Like these. The oat ones,"

"Just because there are oats, don't make it healthy. It's got the same amount of sugar and butter… You are not currently eating a health food, Van."

Again, a frown. Again, slowly, he reached out for another cookie and walked backwards out the room.

"Why you gotta spoil the fun?" he asked with a smirk.

You shook your head at him and followed him from the kitchen.

"I'm going to go have a shower. I'll clean the kitchen up when I'm out, then we can think about dinner. Maybe we can get something really healthy. Like McDonalds' burgers with extra lettuce? Or like, low-fat ice cream?" you said, watching Van make himself comfy in front of the television. He was ready for Fifa. He shot you a look that made you laugh out loud.

From the shower, even over the noise of the water hitting the tiled floor, you could hear Van's yelling. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling like an idiot. As you started to shampoo your hair though, he went quiet. You imagined the feeling to be similar to when a child goes quiet in their bedroom. What mischief are they up to? Half expecting him to jump through the door and scare the living daylights out of you, you continued your shower nervously.

Dressed in clean track pants and a crop top, you walked back through the house with a towel on your head. Van was still on the couch playing his game. He glanced over at you and smiled, pausing the game.

"Come here," he said, motioning for you.

Standing between his legs, you unfolded your hair and began to dry.

"What?" you asked, not paying much attention to him. Suddenly, his lips were on your tummy. He kissed above and below your belly button, where you were easily most self-conscious. You squirmed and Van let you go. "Stop," you whined, walking away. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what? Kiss you? Ain't that my job?" he asked back, resuming the game and putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"Can't you just kiss me normally? Like, on the lips and neck and stuff?" you yelled from the kitchen. The clean kitchen.

"I do! But I like your tummy!"

In the short time it had taken you to shower, Van had stacked all the dishes in the dishwasher and wiped down the benches. It wasn't perfect. The floor needed to be swept; there was a lot of loose flour and some stray oats. The bin was almost at capacity too. However, it was more than enough. A strange wave of relief washed over you.

You picked up your camera off the microwave and started recording. Back through the lounge room, you focused on Van.

"Thank you for cleaning," you said to him. He shrugged.

"You cook. I clean. Seems fair," he replied, not seeking praise for something so mundane. You had known it all along, but he really was one of the few good ones. He never demanded accolade for doing things that simply made him a normal, good person.

He hadn't noticed the camera, hadn't taken his eyes off the screen.

"Babe? Can you tell me the Subway rule again?" you asked in your sweetest voice.

"Why would I wanna-" he started, pausing and looking at you. He grinned when he saw it. "So you can mock me? Make a little movie and show everyone how daft your boyfriend is?"

"No! I'm not making fun of you! I think it's cute. Just tell me again," you said, walking over and sitting next to him, letting him wrap an arm around you.

"I'll tell you the Subway rule if you'll play a round of Fifa with me?"

Back to normal: baking cookies and Fifa.

…

It was surprisingly warm August night. Van was turning twenty-four and you'd gathered his nearest and dearest for a dinner at home. It was a small group and the love flowed as freely as the wine.

After food, you lead everyone out into the backyard where you'd set up a makeshift cinema. In place of chairs, there were huge pillows and beanbags. Fairy lights ran along the fence. Bowls of popcorn and all Van's favourite snacks were sitting on a table in the shade of the house. People chattered excitedly, in awe of what you'd done for their favourite son, favourite person.

"Babe?" Van asked, his words forced to form around his unstoppable smile.

"Surprise," you whispered to him, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into a tight hug. "Now sit."

He followed the instructions, sitting at the front as you went to your laptop that was connected to the projector. There wasn't a proper screen; instead, you had a sheet hanging from a tree, all four corners weighted up and down to keep the wrinkles flat.

The group hushed as a projected image of your laptop desktop was displayed. They all looked to you.

"So… Ah, thank you for coming… to Van's birthday." You couldn't help but grin when you said his name and he beamed up at you. The light of his life. "A while ago I randomly started to film stuff. It was 'cause there was so much happening that Van was missing while he was on tour. Kinda figured he should be able to see it. You know, 'cause he goes out and works hard so that we can have nice houses and so he deserves… good stuff too."

Bernie and Mary looked at each other with a fondness forged long ago in the hard depths of IVF drama.

You continued, "He didn't really think much of it, I think. Right? Just thought I'd picked up a habit or whatever?"

"Thought it might be for school," Van answered, nodding.

"Yeah. Well. At first it was random but then I had this thought that I could make something of it. Something creative. Because… Because all my life you've written me these songs and poems and I've never been able to give you back that. I can do other things, but not… creation. So… I did this. For you. And everyone. Um. Yeah. I don't know. I hope everyone likes it."

You hadn't planned on giving a speech, but as you were about to click play you realised there had to be an introduction. What you said would have to suffice, and as you dove onto Van's lap, red-faced, listening to the applause of the group, you felt nervous. What if people thought it was lame? What if Van thought it was lame?

The film started.

Van as a child, attempting to play a small banjo someone had put in his lap. He had a little suit on, a little waistcoat. He grinned and screamed with laughter as he ripped at the strings of the banjo, producing an awful sound. Everyone, both in the film and out, went all gooey. Then, child Van started to sing. 'There muss be sum kina way ou' of 'ere!' and the cameraperson panned to a younger Mary and Bernie, both confused at how their son had learned Hendrix.

Van, a little older, glaring at the camera as Mary licked her hand and tried to tame his hair. Bernie's unmistakable laugh, both past and present.

Teenage Van, but only just. Larry too. They'd stolen the camera to record themselves pretending to be famous footballers. Both of them running around with their shirts over their heads, only to collide with a sickening thud.

Van, maybe sixteen, maybe seventeen, alone in his bedroom. Camera on, he said, 'I met a girl today,' and proceeded to sing the first song he ever wrote for you.

Van, behind the camera for once, said, 'Here is the love of my life!' The very bad phone camera focussed on you and Larry crossing the street. 'It's Larry!'

And it went on. You all sat and watched Van grow up. You watched yourselves interact with him in various ways, playing various roles to the beloved protagonist. Towards the end of the film, there were moments still readily in Van's memory.

Van finding the running camera on top of the television when he came home from tour. Swinging his hips in front of it then laughing to himself, walking away. The conversation about how you film things. 'Wha' you doin' this for?' in his high pitched tone. Van rummaging through a cupboard with flour on his face. Drunk Larry. Sleeping Larry. Hungover Larry. Secretly filmed moments of Van painting the bookshelf. A backyard water fight. Van's tummy, all puffy with Yorkshire puddings. The few moments of hysterical laughing after fanfic and before sex (obviously cut short for that reason). The Subway rule. Fifa battles.

When the last scene played, the screen did not go blank. Instead, a mirror image of the garden was projected. Hidden was a camera that live-streamed onto the screen. Everyone laughed and started to wave to themselves, then they clapped and whistled for you. You looked up at Van from where you were snuggled into him. His eyes were glassy and his mouth was open a little. He was spacing out, so you glanced around. Mary and Bernie were teary too, hugging it out. Everyone else had begun their preoccupation with their own on-screen self.

"Y/N, is this just a stream, or is it recordin'?" Larry asked. He knew better than to do anything too stupid while you were filming him.

Back to Van, you leaned up and gently kissed his jawline. It brought him back down to Earth and he looked at you. Moving yourself up, you got off his lap and sat next to him.

"Thoughts?" you asked.

"I… It's…" Van suffered not having the right words to express his big, big feelings a lot. It was probably one of the very few ways he did suffer. His existence demanded a vocabulary that the average human race had not yet written. He shook his head and looked at you. He looked at you how you looked at him and you knew what that meant. You knew how the film had made him feel.

"Happy birthday, you funny little ray of sunshine," you whispered, leaning in and kissing him gently.

He kissed back, equally gently, equally in love. You could feel the tenderness in the way his hands slowly found yours, in the way his fingers tangled in yours. There was appreciation in the moment.

Van would have to leave again soon. There were continents unexplored and hearts of crowds yet to capture. He'd take the film with him and watch it every other day. At home, you would do the same. Stolen hoodies, spellchecked fanfic, Sunday visits to Mary and Bernie, Snapchatted everything, and a fifth coping strategy for dealing with your homesickness for the boy. A film of love.

In the garden that night though, on his birthday with all he could ever dream of a sure reality, Van wasn't thinking about the next tour. Neither were you. You were thinking about each other. As you ate junk food and drank wine and eventually said goodnight to all your guests, you were only ever thinking of each other. As lights were turned off and dishes were left for the morning and beds became occupied with your giddy and drunken bodies, you were thinking of each other.

"Thank you," Van whispered, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He began kissing, nipping at you. You wriggled your hips until you could slide under him and koala your legs around his waist.

"For what?" you asked, one thing on your mind.

"Everything. Dinner and the party. The movie, especially. You're just… you’re the best girlfriend ever." It was a cute statement. Best. Girlfriend. Ever. The type of thing a thirteen-year-old would write on a Valentine's card and give to a friend to give to a friend to give to the girl with the red hair sitting up the front. It was very Van.

"You're welcome. You're the best boyfriend ever."

He grinned into you; you could feel his funny little bunny teeth.

Each act in bed that night served a purpose twofold. Back to normal: Pleasure and fun and intimacy. But within each movement, each kiss, each touch, there was a shadow. They were acts that braced both you and Van for when you were going to be apart. Not normal: being separated from the love of your life. But, you'd make it work. You'd find ways to be okay because as long as you had each other, you would always be.


End file.
